Finding Sarah

by Terry Odell

She cackled. “Someday, somebody’s going to take exception to the fact that you seem to get your LUDs almost before the ink’s dry on the paperwork.”

  * * * * *

  Sarah floated to a state of half wakefulness. She felt the softness of her pillow, smelled the freshly laundered sheets. Sunlight filtered through her closed lids. She turned away from the source of the light, trying to put her nightmare behind her. It had certainly seemed real enough. Her head felt two sizes too big, she needed to pee, and an underlying nausea added to her discomfort. She yawned and cracked her eyelids open.

  As soon as she did, any remnants of sleep were eradicated by the surge of adrenaline. This was not her bedroom. This was not any bedroom she’d ever been in. She was lying in a king-sized oak bed, still wearing the jersey she’d borrowed from Randy. Her memory returned and she choked back a scream for help. Chris. He’d stolen her away last night. He’d drugged her—that’s why she was so groggy. She heard herself hyperventilating and struggled to slow her breathing.

  Her panic intensified the urgent need for a bathroom. Sarah crept out of bed, fighting the dizziness and tiptoed across the wood floor, trying the closed door at her right. Locked. She discovered an open doorway in the opposite corner, hidden behind a lattice screen. Thankful that the room revealed the necessary fixtures, she sighed as she relieved herself. She tried to be quiet, but there was no way to pee silently.

  She fought to breathe normally and studied the bathroom, searching for a way out. A tiny ventilation window near the ceiling was useless. Laid out neatly on the counter were a toothbrush still in its wrapper, a tube of toothpaste, a bar of soap, a washcloth, and a pile of fluffy yellow towels. She peeked behind a yellow-flowered shower curtain into a tub-shower combination with bottles of expensive shampoo, conditioner, and bubble bath. Definitely nothing that would help her escape.

  Her mouth tasted like old socks. With shaking fingers, she unwrapped the toothbrush and ran enough water to dampen it, taking a moment to run it across her teeth. She moistened a washcloth and rubbed it across her face and the back of her neck. She leaned against the sink, trembling from the exertion.

  Mounting anger gave some of her strength back. How could she have been so stupid? So naïve? But Chris had been so passive in high school, so polite and proper. Hell, it had been almost two years before he’d French kissed her, and even then, she’d had to convince him he wasn’t out of line.

  Using the walls for support, she tiptoed back to the bedroom and continued her exploration. Security bars covered the lone window in the room, a combination padlock secured the bars. This was a prison cell. Blood rushed through her ears, the dizziness returned. She sat on the bed and tried to stop shaking.

  Calm down. Think.

  A photo album lay on a night table shelf at the side of the bed. She picked it up and ran her quivering fingers over its textured surface. She flipped through it, fighting off a feeling of horror. It was full of pictures. Of her. Photos taken when she and Chris were in high school. Some more recent ones. Her at the bus stop, walking downtown, outside her shop.

  The click of a lock being released sent her heart skyrocketing. She hurried to replace the book, pulled the covers over herself and tried to feign sleep, striving to keep her breathing slow and even. Randy would find her and everything would be fine. She had to stay calm and give Randy time. Time. Let Chris think she was still asleep.

  “I know you’re awake, my Sleeping Beauty,” Chris said. “I heard you moving around in here. Sorry about the locked door, but I’m not sure you can be trusted yet.”

  The touch of a hand to her hair made her recoil. She gave up pretending and opened her eyes.

  Chris wore black denims and a plaid shirt over a deep blue turtleneck. The beaming smile on his face made her seethe. She wanted to strike out at him, to scratch his eyes out. To kick him where it would do the most good. She inched up to a sitting position, leaning against the headboard as the room spun. Kicking him would have to wait.

  “That’s better, my love.” Chris settled himself on the edge of the bed. “You’ve been asleep quite some time.”

  “How long? What time is it? What day is it, for that matter? Where are we?”

  “My, aren’t you full of questions? It doesn’t matter where we are, as long as we’re together. But, since you ask, it’s Monday, around noon. I love you. I used the ether because you didn’t understand you love me, too. Now, everything will be perfect.” His fawning expression disgusted her, and the lifelessness in his eyes made her flesh crawl.

  “You love me? You kidnap me, drug me, hurt my friends? That’s not love, Chris. That’s nuts.” She had to stop and catch her breath, to wait for the room to stop spinning like a tilt-a-whirl.

  “We’re not talking about that now. That’s behind us. Now, we can be happy.” He stroked her cheek and she jerked her head away, sending another wave of dizziness through her.

  She gasped. “Don’t touch me.”

  “I’m sure you’re feeling the aftereffects of the ether. I’m sorry I gave you so much, but I needed to take care of everything and get some sleep myself. I’ll run you a nice bubble bath so you can wash away all the remnants of your past.” He stood and crossed behind the screen.

  Her mind raced. Could Chris possibly believe he could kidnap her and she’d agree to be part of his life? He had to be crazy. Once she heard the water running in the tub, she slid out of bed and half-crawled to the bedroom door. Before she reached the knob, strong fingers gripped her shoulders.

  “I don’t think you should be going anywhere,” Chris said. “It’s time for your bath.”

  He placed his hand on her elbow to lead her to the bathroom and she twisted away. “I said, don’t touch me,” she repeated before her vision darkened into nothingness.

  * * * * *

  Security cleared Randy through the gate at Consolidated and directed him to a visitor parking area. The six-story brick building sat on a landscaped rise, surrounded by Garry oaks and Douglas firs.

  Randy jumped from his F-150 and wound his way up the tree-lined path, past the granite “Consolidated Enterprises” sign to the main entrance. The immense wooden doors opened into a spacious marble-floored lobby that extended up two stories. Randy approached the curved wooden reception desk at the back of the lobby. A middle-aged woman looked up at him and smiled.

  “May I help you?”

  Randy displayed his badge. “I’d like to speak to someone in your Telecommunications Department regarding your phone system.”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “No, I need to track down a phone. I thought it would be easiest to do it in person.”

  She consulted her computer. “I’ll get someone for you.”

  While the woman made her call, Randy wandered over to an enormous fireplace and stared into the fire’s dancing colors, calmed by its hypnotic spell. He heard his name being spoken and turned to greet a dark-haired man wearing faded jeans and an Oregon State sweatshirt.

  “Detective Detweiler? I’m Gary Henderson, IT Services. How can I help you?”

  “I’ve got what’s supposed to be a Consolidated phone number, but your receptionist says it’s not one of yours. It’s come up on the periphery of a couple of cases and we’d like to be able to rule it out.”

  “Follow me.” Gary turned and walked down a long carpeted hallway. He pushed open the door to a large office, although there was hardly any working room left beyond the computers, files, and bookshelves crammed with technical manuals. He shifted a pile of folders off a chair and motioned Randy to sit. Gary sat at a computer terminal and clicked the mouse a few times. “What was the number?”

  Randy handed him the slip of paper with the number.

  “Okee dokie. Let’s see what we’ve got.” As Gary clicked his way through several screens. Randy noticed an employee directory on top of a stack of folders on the floor. He leaned over and picked it up.

  “Mind if I take this directory?” he asked.

  “I d
on’t have a problem with it. They go out of date faster than we print ’em.”

  “Here we are,” Gary said. “I think I’ve found the problem. That number belonged to someone who’s no longer with the company, and it’s not been reassigned.”

  “Do you leave the lines active when someone leaves?” Randy asked.

  “No, we shut ’em down.”

  “Would you mind checking?”

  Gary clicked some more. Randy thumbed through the directory, disappointed that it gave only work information. Still, better than nothing. Scanning for his aliases was interrupted when Gary spoke.

  “You’re right. That line was never deactivated. Didn’t show up because nobody’s using it to make calls. Our reports track outgoing calls, not incoming.”

  “Would you show me where this phone line is?” Randy asked. He tucked the directory into his briefcase.

  “Don’t see why not. It’s a boardroom on the fifth floor.”

  The elevator ride was swift and silent, and Gary led Randy to a door halfway down the hall, where he swiped a card through a sensor, and pushed the door open.

  “Do all the offices have electronic locks?” Randy asked.

  “Anything above the fourth floor. The suits work up here. The ones with the letters for titles.” He grinned and held the door open.

  Randy entered the room. Carpeted in taupe or mauve or whatever you called those non-colors, the office held a massive oak conference table surrounded by twelve chairs. A bank of cabinets and empty shelves adorned one wall, with a counter and more cabinets below. Randy saw a phone on the wall. He looked at Gary.

  “No, that phone number is active and it’s not the one you gave me. That’s a house phone so they can call and complain that it’s too hot or too cold in here, or they’re out of grub during one of their meetings.”

  “There’s an empty jack,” Randy said. “Could someone plug a phone in there and use it?”

  Gary lifted one shoulder. “Suppose so, assuming they could bypass the lock. Of course any suit’s key would work here, and the maintenance crew has masters, and so does Security. Dozens of people could get in if they wanted to.”

  Randy began opening cabinets. He found an old city telephone directory, a lot of dust, and three ballpoint pens. When he opened the last cabinet door, his heart jumped. “What about this?” he asked, pointing to an old-model answering machine.

  Gary stepped over. “What the—” He reached for the machine.

  Randy grasped Gary’s arm. “Please. Don’t touch anything.” He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and moved the answering machine, revealing another set of electrical outlets and telephone jacks.

  “Wait a minute,” Gary said. “Now I remember. Five or six years ago, before I came on board, this office was used for a big research project. They hired a dozen temps to handle the data entry. It was rewired to handle the extra equipment, and then when the job was done, they redesigned the space as a boardroom, which is hardly ever used. I totally forgot about the extra outlets.”

  “I’d like to take this machine back to Pine Hills,” Randy said.

  “I don’t think I’m authorized to let you do that. Let me make a quick call.”

  While Gary used the house phone, Randy fought the temptation to push the “play” button on the machine. This would be done by the book, one page at a time. Hell, one paragraph at a time. No way would this case get tossed because of some sloppy work on his part. They’d record the messages, and Connor would run the machine through the fuming closet to raise any latents. Much as he wanted to do it here, now, himself, he knew fingerprint powder would wreak havoc with the machine.

  “Do you have a warrant?” Gary asked.

  “No, but I can get one.” Randy waited as Gary returned to his call.

  “The boss says no problem.” Gary said.

  Randy exhaled, almost audibly. “Thank you. After I have this fingerprinted, I’ll return it. I should be back this afternoon. Would you have another answering machine to plug in here while this one’s gone?”

  “No, we use voice mail now. But why not let me plug in a phone that rings directly to voice mail?”

  More options to weigh. An incoming caller likely wouldn’t notice—or care about—a different answering message. But what if his suspect came by to pick up his messages? “Is there any way to ensure that nobody gets in here until I get back?”

  Gary smiled. “I can create a little electronic problem with the lock so nobody can get in, although like I said, this place isn’t used much. Besides, if there’s a problem, it would be me they’d call to fix it, so nobody would ever know I created the glitch in the first place.”

  “Thanks.” That should cover everything but the guy calling the machine to retrieve messages remotely and deleting them. All he could do now was hope that didn’t happen. It was a gamble, but he should be back within a few hours. A risk he was willing to take.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it. I imagine whoever is behind this does his work after hours, but I’d rather be careful. And, please, don’t let word of my visit get out.”

  “Not a problem,” Gary said. “I’ll speak to Security as well.”

  Randy picked up the machine. “Thanks. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” This time, the elevator seemed to move in slow motion. Randy tapped his foot as he waited for the doors to open in the lobby.

  Back at the station, Randy dropped the answering machine off with Connor and got busy running Mr. Yamaguchi’s list of Med-Tekke employees though NCIC looking for anyone with a criminal record.

  Sensing that someone had entered the office, Randy looked up, expecting Connor. Instead, Kovak dropped a paper sack on Randy’s desk.

  “I brought you a sub,” he said. “Meatball.”

  Randy mumbled a quick thank-you and reached into the bag, still reading the screen. His eyes burned, and the aroma of the sandwich persuaded him to take a break.

  “Get anything from Consolidated?” Kovak said.

  Randy nodded, swallowing a mouthful of meatballs and bread. “Answering machine. Connor’s got it.”

  “And Connor’s done,” came a voice from the hall. Connor came in with the answering machine. He set the machine on Randy’s desk.

  “And?” Randy said.

  “Sorry—no prints. Wiped clean.”

  “Fuck,” Randy said. “What about messages?”

  “One.”

  “Dammit, Connor. Play the damn thing for me.”

  Then a beep and the incoming message—”Mr. Steiglitz? This is Rose. I have done what you asked. The package is on its way. I expect payment in full tomorrow, in cash, and the negatives, as we agreed.”

  “Any help?” Connor asked. “You’re the detectives, but that doesn’t sound like much to me.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got someone expecting payment for a job. Nothing too incriminating there,” Kovak said. “The negatives might mean blackmail, though. Would have happened a while back before almost everyone went digital. You know this Steiglitz guy?”

  “No.” Randy pushed his sandwich aside and added Steiglitz to his growing list of names. “Play it again,” he said.

  Connor punched a button and the message repeated. Randy concentrated. The woman’s voice had a hint of an Asian accent. His brain buzzed. He reached for the Med-Tekke list. Scanning the pages, he found the name he was looking for. Rose Tanaka. Better than nothing. He picked up the phone and called Mr. Yamaguchi. The man wasn’t in, but when Randy identified himself as a cop, a secretary told him Rose Tanaka had worked for Med-Tekke for six months, but she hadn’t reported for work in several days.

  “She did it,” Randy said. “Steiglitz, or someone using the name, paid her to steal the toxin. She did the job, took the money, and ran.”

  “No proof,” Kovak said.

  “I’ll get some. Meanwhile, I’m going to take this machine back to Consolidated.” He was halfway out the door when Connor’s voice stopped him.

  “Don’t you want the remote code?”
/>
  He swiveled. “You mean so I can call in myself?”

  “Well, duh. Yeah. Whoever this machine belongs to never reprogrammed the factory default.”

  Shit. He was really losing his focus. “Yes, of course. Thanks. I owe you.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I won’t forget.” Connor said.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The darkness lifted, and Sarah’s memory returned. Braving a peek through barely opened eyelids, she found herself alone in the bedroom. She lay still, trying to make sure Chris thought she was asleep. At least twice she was aware of the door opening and closing. The third time it opened, it didn’t close again, and she heard faint footsteps and then the quiet sounds of breathing from the end of the bed. She counted to one hundred and her visitor remained. Chris wasn’t leaving this time. She might as well find out as much as she could about where she was and what he planned to do to her. She turned over and raised her eyelids.

  “Hello again,” Chris said with a smile. “I think I know what’s the matter. Wait right here.” He darted out of the room, locking the door behind him.

  The man was totally out of touch with reality, but she was too weak to do anything about it now. She sank into the pillows and closed her eyes again.

  Chris returned, carrying a tray and set it on the nightstand. “You’re hungry.”

  Sarah contemplated the tray with its bowl of cereal and Styrofoam cup of milk along with some toast and jam. The Chris she remembered wouldn’t hurt her. But then, he wouldn’t have kidnapped her, either. He was bringing her breakfast, not coming at her with a knife. Knife. She checked the tray again. Only a plastic spoon.

  “Eat something. Please,” Chris said. “I remember how you would get if you skipped meals.”

  “Why should I trust you? You kidnapped me. You drugged me. You poisoned cats.” Her stomach tightened as she spoke the words.

  “I told you before, we’re not talking about that now, Sarah. Eat.”

  Her stomach rumbled. She would have to play along until she got her bearings.